


To Sleep, Perchance To Cuddle

by kekinkawaii



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28380165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kekinkawaii/pseuds/kekinkawaii
Summary: Sleeping isn't something Castiel's used to. Luckily, Dean's here to help.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 70





	To Sleep, Perchance To Cuddle

The scuffling outside the door was driving him insane.

Dean was a light sleeper—had to be—and even the memory-foam couldn’t dampen the footsteps out in the hall. Pacing. Back and forth, back and forth. Stopping by the washroom, heading for the library for fifteen minutes before trailing back, stopping in front of his door, scuffling, then trailing away again. And again. 

It wasn’t Sam; they were too light to be Sam, a sort-of tentativeness in them that even at his most graceful, Sam couldn’t pull off. It wasn’t an intruder, because the Bunker’s security systems had been kickass already, and after Sam had rolled up his sleeves and gone elbow-deep digging in the programming (in a way Dean couldn’t dream to understand), it was damn near bulletproof.

That left one option, and Dean was left staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet scuffling, for another few minutes before he muttered, “Fuck,” and threw off the blankets.

The footsteps had, coincidentally, paused in front of his door.

Dean padded over and yanked it open, revealing Castiel, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed.

“Dean,” Castiel blurted out, and then shut his mouth. Like a deer in headlights, Dean thought, taking in his crazy-looking hair and t-shirt and sweatpants and bare feet. They’d finally convinced him to ditch the trenchcoat after he’d lugged that thing around for a week, after a much-needed talk about personal hygiene now that he didn’t have angel mojo to keep him all nice and fresh.

“Yo,” Dean said, his throat feeling ragged from sleep. “You okay?”

Castiel straightened himself quickly. “I’m fine.”

Dean squinted at him. “You sure?”

“Yes.” Castiel was doing that thing again where he wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

“Right,” Dean said slowly. “Okay, then. In that case, I’m going to go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

“And could you, uh. Turn it down a little? I can hear you pacing.”  _ All night,  _ Dean wanted to add.

“My apologies,” Castiel said, and then just stood there. 

Dean stood back and stared back for an excruciatingly-long moment before realizing that Castiel wasn’t going to say anything else. “I’m going to close the door now,” he said.

“Okay. Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”

Dean closed the door and then kept his hand on the wood for a second, imagining Castiel on the other side. Hovering like an anxious moth. Unable to sleep. Probably with his feet getting cold.

“Jesus,” he sighed, and forced himself to go back to bed.

-+-+-+-

This time, it wasn’t a scuffle, but a sneeze.

Dean’s eyes flew open and he was disoriented for a split second, body jerking like a marionette, before he registered the noise and tenor and tone (like a  _ kitten,  _ Sam had blurted out the first time they’d heard it, and Dean had held in his laughter for a good two seconds before bursting into guffaws at Castiel’s disgruntled I’m-An-Angel-Of-The-Lord-How-Dare-You-Call-Me-A-Kitten face). 

He sidled in his bed for another few beats, listening. A sniffle, a sigh; so quietly he nearly missed it.

Dean sighed back, then kicked off his covers.

Castiel nearly jumped when the door opened. “Hello, Dean,” he said, a little too quickly. “I apologize for awakening you. I had not intended to sneeze.” A befuddled look flitted across his face. “It snuck up on me.”

“Yeah, that’s how it usually works,” Dean said. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, see, that’s bullshit,” Dean said. “What’s up?”

Silence. Then: “I cannot seem to fall asleep.”

“Oh,” Dean said, surprised. He’d been expecting—he didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Something more dramatic. More attuned to the whole Apocalypse, God, Demons, Hell thing. This was mundane, and as Dean took in Castiel’s dark circles and messy hair, he felt a flood of sudden and clarion relief, because this was mundane and simple and so very human, this was something he could fix.

When he opened the door wider and stepped aside, Castiel didn’t seem to get the message. “Come on in,” he said as an addendum, and closed the door behind them when Castiel did so, tentatively.

Castiel walked like Dean’s carpet was thin ice. “Settle down,” Dean suggested, picking up the laptop from his desk and carrying it to his bed.

“What are you doing?” Castiel said, regarding Dean’s room with blatant curiosity.

Dean keyed in the passcodes and pulled up Netflix. “Now, Sam is a weirdo and actually enjoys watching these, but personally, they put me to sleep. Which is good, because that’s what we want right now.” He patted the spot on the bed next to him. “C’mon.”

With wariness coming off of him in waves, Castiel climbed onto Dean’s bed and scooted over until he was propped up with a pillow on the headboard, sitting right next to Dean, so close he could hear his breathing and feel his warmth and smell the citrus shampoo he fell in love with the last time they went to Walmart.

“Pick one,” Dean said, scrolling through the episodes. Castiel craned his neck, leaning closer to read the titles. The citrus smell grew stronger.

“This one has a picture of jellyfish,” Castiel murmured, sounding enthralled.

“Jellyfish it is,” Dean said.

As the documentary began to play, Dean pretended to watch the screen while watching Castiel. Castiel appeared dubious at first, but was immediately sucked in at the first shot of the ocean from a bird’s-eye view, with thousands of tiny fish swirling in a figure-eight. The tension that’d been thrumming beneath his skin slowly quieted. Occasionally, he’d make a comment about the documentary, and Dean would respond with a quiet hum, but even those grew few and far between as the film played on.

By the half-hour mark, Dean glanced over to see Castiel slumped down, half-sitting, his mouth slightly open and the crease lines smoothed out from his brow.

He let the video play for a few minutes more, and then slowly decreased the volume until it was completely muted before closing the tab. Being very careful not to stir the sleeping figure next to him, he moved the laptop off his legs and onto the far side of the bed.

Pulling the blankets a little higher on both of them, Dean rearranged the pillows until Castiel’s neck was more supported. He shifted himself until he was in a more comfortable position, and then shut his eyes, lulled to sleep by the quiet breathing next to him.

-+-+-+-

Dean heard the footsteps from the instant they’d appeared in the hall. He kept his eyes closed as they stalled at his door for a good five minutes before the door creaked open.

“Dean.”

…

“Dean.”

Dean stirred, grumbled, “What?”

Silence, pale-pink and shy. Throwing an arm over his face, Dean rubbed at his late-night stubble with a rough palm before squinting his eyes open. 

Castiel was standing in the doorway. At least he had his blanket with him this time, Dean thought, the lilac-coloured thing all wrapped up around him like a perturbed, exotic moth. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean said, “It’s three in the morning, Cas. Some of us are trying to sleep.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re supposed to be trying to sleep.”

Castiel pursed his lips together and wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes. There was something vulnerable in the shuffle of his bare feet, the clench of his fingers around his blanket.

Dean watched him for another moment, waiting to see if he would say anything, and when he didn’t, he sighed, fighting a smile, and lifted the side of his blankets, the side closest to the door.

“Well, come on, then,” he said.

In an instant, Castiel was squirming by his side, his own blanket discarded somewhere off to the foot of the bed.

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said, voice sated and sleepy. He was grabbing the collar of Dean’s pyjama shirt, crumpling it in his fist. His icy toes prodded at Dean’s calves as he snuggled in closer.

Dean pressed his lips into Castiel’s hair. “Night, Cas,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, I've written over 15 works for SPN and this is the _first_ one that's not an AU!
> 
> I hope you liked this little drabble. Please leave a comment if you did; it really makes my day 1000x better. Thank you for reading <3


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